The three-piece orchestra in “Ionescopade” has barely started the overture — zany percussion, wacky noisemakers — and already the whimsy-meter is in the red.
You’d think you were at the Big Apple Circus, but instead, “Ionescopade” — subtitled “a musical vaudeville” — is a revival of a 1974 off-Broadway show. Admittedly, it does include a pair of clowns in orange wigs, and it makes as much sense as a big-top routine — which is to say, not a lot.
That’s because the evening is based on texts by Eugene Ionesco — set to music by Mildred Kayden — who’s widely acknowledged as a master of absurdist theater. Non sequiturs abound, logic is pushed to literal extremes, exchanges go round and round in maddening circles.
You’ve got to admire the York Theatre’s willingness to sniff out obscurities. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if “Ionescopade” is really worth revisiting.
The Pearl company recently did Ionesco’s signature work “The Bald Soprano,” from 1950, and two and a half years ago, Geoffrey Rush won a Tony for his turn in a revival of 1962’s “Exit the King.” But overall, the Romania-born, France-based Ionesco isn’t produced very often here — probably because his nonsensical MO is devilishly hard to stage well.
“Ionescopade” draws from his journals, one-act works and best-known plays. The lyrics from “My Ginger Wildcat” are lifted from a bit in “Exit the King.” The number is part of a medley, “The Bobby Watson Family,” which refers to a character mentioned in “The Bald Soprano.”
Rest assured that knowing the original context of these allusions makes no difference.
Director/choreographer Bill Castellino seems to want to recreate a 1950s Parisian cabaret, complete with cheeseball magic acts, a gloomy chanson, dancing “Apaches” (i.e., Montmartre gangsters) and excruciating skits. “The Cooking Lesson,” in which a chef explains how to boil an egg, may drive you into the arms of Chef Boyardee.
The cast of seven is reasonably apt, though Samuel Cohen, in a silent role, overdoes the cutesy, who-me? innocence. Nancy Anderson has a pointy, Bernadette Peters-esque presence, and Paul Binotto is a fine downtrodden crooner in “Madeleine” (not the Brel tune). Nicole Wee’s ingenious costumes exemplify invention on a budget.
These are bright spots, but too often the show steps over the thin line between absurd and pointless.